


The Main Reason a Knight Might Buy A Dress (The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy Remix)

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon, Crack, Crossdressing, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine really, really wants Merlin to wear the dress he bought accidentally because of Arthur. Merlin is stupid in love, and Arthur suspects sorcery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Main Reason a Knight Might Buy A Dress (The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jelazakazone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Main Reason a Knight Might Buy a Dress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/514580) by [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth), [jelazakazone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelazakazone/pseuds/jelazakazone). 



> Thanks to my beta for her feedback and comments, and to the lovely original authors who created a fic I had so much fun remixing.

Gwaine has been acting decidedly odd the last few days, Merlin thinks as he walks behind his friend toward the stables. He can’t quite put his finger on when or how it began, but lately he’s gotten the feeling he’s missing something important.

His horse whickers in anticipation of oats and a rubdown, and Merlin pats his sweaty neck with sympathetic weariness. It’s been a long day out scouting the perimeter of Camelot to investigate a report of bandits stealing the harvest, only to find the trail washed away by a recent storm (or by whatever sorcerer Merlin suspects has been assisting them). Arthur and the rest of the knights, save Gwaine, have gone ahead to the castle, leaving Merlin behind with the stable hands. Merlin can always count on Gwaine. They exchange grins and a few jokes while they water and feed the horses. It’s always been like this between them, an easy camaraderie born of similarly humble backgrounds, but today Gwaine’s smiles seem more flirtatious than usual. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine says once they’re headed back to the castle, arms occasionally knocking together, “what’s your neckerchief made of?” He brushes his fingers gently across the material, and Merlin swallows. It’s no secret Gwaine wouldn’t turn him out of bed if he asked; still, he also knows Gwaine’s reputation with the ladies (and lads) of the town—and he doesn’t want to be just another conquest. 

“Um, I don’t know? Linen?” 

“Is it comfortable?” 

“It suits me fine.” 

“But silk is much softer, wouldn’t you agree?” 

For some reason the question makes him think of intimacies better reserved for night, and heat rises to his cheeks. “I suppose so.”

“You know, I think you look very nice in blue.” 

“Thanks?” Perhaps Gwaine went early to cups while Merlin wasn’t looking. 

This time the smile on his friend’s face makes him nervous, as though Gwaine can look inside him and see his unspoken desire. His arousal stirs in his breeches, thankfully hidden by the loose fit. 

That’s all that is said of the matter. The conversation, strange as it is, fades from his mind until one night a few weeks later. Merlin can’t sleep for thinking about Morgana and her latest plan to assassinate Arthur when he hears the sound of someone stumbling around in the main room. Immediately alert, he creeps to his opened door and peers out. His heart begins a rapid tattoo against his ribs. “Who’s there?” 

“It’s me, Gwaine,” comes the reply, followed by a crash. “Bugger!” 

The tension eases from Merlin’s shoulders. “Is everything all right? Come here.” Luckily Gaius is still snoring, and Gwaine manages the rest of his approach without incident. When he’s standing in front of Merlin he offers a shy smile, and Merlin’s heart picks up speed again. He appears to be clutching something in his hands. A parcel. 

Once they’re seated on Merlin’s bed, so close together he can feel Gwaine’s body heat through his nightshirt, he motions to the package. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Gwaine’s voice goes oddly high-pitched. “It’s a present for you. I got it at the fair.”

“The fair? Last month?”

“Yes. Well, um, just go ahead. Open it. I hope you’ll like it.”

Merlin takes the gift and unwraps it, surprised when silk emerges under his fingers. “Is this a _dress_?”

***

Even if Arthur Pendragon is full of shite (and he is, especially where Merlin is concerned), Gwaine decides that buying Merlin a dress wasn’t the worst choice he’s ever made, although Merlin doesn’t wear women’s clothing even in private. In the weeks since the night he brought the gift to Merlin’s chambers, the two of them have brought each other off with their hands and their mouths and have kissed 48 times.

Not that Gwaine’s counting. 

Most of these encounters have been furtive, lest they risk waking Gaius—though there was that one time he tackled Merlin in Arthur’s chambers and they nearly despoiled the royal bed. Gwaine suspects the other knights are beginning to notice; he hasn’t gone to a whorehouse in weeks and he can’t stop grinning like a fool. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it himself, but without sorcerers or enchantresses lurking around the castle to blame for love potions and spells, it must be the real thing. 

All in all, it’s been his most successful wooing enterprise to date, which he figures is a respectable outcome for what had started out as a drunken blunder. He gets the feeling the affection he’d always feared was one-sided has actually been mutual, and that the dress has very little to do with the way Merlin looks at him now, like he’s a succulent pastry Merlin can’t wait to devour. 

The item in question becomes something of a joke between them and disappears after their first night together, but Gwaine can’t erase the idea of Merlin in silk from his mind. It’s not that he thinks Merlin’s a girl or wants him to be: he loves the hard planes of Merlin’s body, his fuzzy arse and delicately curved cock. He simply imagines it would be delightful to press his mouth against Merlin’s musky prick as it strains against silken material. The forbidden nature of his longing only fuels it, but he knows it’s merely a fantasy.

***

Arthur barely remembers what happened the night before; he had definitely drunk too much mead and woke with a hangover the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in years. Bloody Gwaine kept refilling his goblet. He vaguely recalls talk of dresses and Merlin—and the strangest dream of Merlin wearing a gown and looking rather lovely. Come to think of it, Merlin does have rather pretty lips. No, best to immediately put _that_ from his mind.

As if reading his thoughts, Merlin barges into the room seconds later, carrying a tray and whistling. “Morning, sire,” he says when he sees Arthur awake. “Rise and shine.” 

Arthur groans, his head pounding. “You’re far too cheerful for your own good.” 

“Well, well. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. A little too much fun with the knights?” Merlin sets the breakfast on the table and yanks down the bedclothes, leaving Arthur with nothing to cover his morning erection except his hands. As always, Merlin does an admirable job of pretending not to notice. “Too bad. You have council in fifteen minutes. Get up.” 

“I’ll set you in the stocks for this,” Arthur says. Merlin just smiles at him.

After he’s washed and eaten, Arthur feels moderately improved. He goes out of his chambers to face the day, and if during council a glimpse of Merlin reminds him of his strange dream, he attributes it to the effects of a night’s overindulgence.

***

One evening Gaius is away on a call when Merlin arrives home, drenched from the rain and exhausted. It’s been pouring buckets for a week, and the damp weather has made people fall ill by the droves.

Yet somehow Merlin isn’t the least surprised to find Gwaine naked in his bed. 

“A bit risky, isn’t it, coming before dark?” he asks, peeling off his wet shirt and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. Sometimes he wishes he could just tell Gwaine about his magic; a quick drying spell would make things so much easier. He can’t risk it, though, not for his sake, but for Gwaine’s—it would brand him an accomplice if anyone should discover Merlin’s secret. 

Gwaine grins, and Merlin’s eyes are drawn to the blanket tented at his thighs. “What’s life without a little risk?” 

Merlin supposes he has a point. After quickly stoking the fire, he shucks off his trousers and slips under the covers. Gwaine hisses when he presses cold hands and feet against his body. “Merlin, you’re freezing.” 

Merlin burrows closer. “Warm me up?” 

“Gods yes.” 

It doesn’t take long before their hands are wrapped around each other’s shafts, their legs threading together. Merlin thrusts his hips to urge his cock through the tight channel of Gwaine’s fist. Under the covers, it’s easy to forget the cold night and blot out everything but the sound of mingled breath. He loves the feel of stubble grazing his cheek, the way Gwaine handles him with firm care, cupping and squeezing his bollocks, seeking out the heat between his legs and groping his arse to pull him closer. He reciprocates as well as he can and tries to hold off; still, it doesn’t take him more than a few minutes to come, his body unused to this kind of ready pleasure. Warm seed coats Merlin’s hand as Gwaine shudders against him and bites into his neck to stifle a moan. 

Merlin licks the bitter release from his fingers and makes a show of sucking each individually into his mouth. This inspires the desired reaction; Gwaine’s eyes widen with surprise and pleasure. 

“You’re so wicked.” 

Merlin grins. “Am I?” Considering the source, it’s the highest compliment. 

“Very.” 

When they kiss, Gwaine’s essence slips between their tongues, a surprisingly intimate sensation. 

“When will Gaius return?” Gwaine asks. Minutes are lost to long, unhurried kisses, and his breathing has grown heavy again. 

“Not for another couple of hours, I should think. Last night he didn’t get back until well past midnight.” 

“Well, then we should make the most of our time, don’t you agree?” 

Before Merlin can answer, Gwaine moves down between his legs and pushes his knees back to lap at his hole. Merlin stifles a groan when a slick finger enters him; then, realising he doesn’t need to fear Gaius will overhear, lets the sound gust out of him. It’s the first time they’ve ever had this sort of privacy.

Later, once Gwaine has spent himself inside of Merlin after a slow coupling, they lay together gazing at the ceiling, fingers intertwined. Gwaine is such a generous lover, always attentive to Merlin’s needs. That this might not have ever happened but for Arthur spreading rumours like a complete prat about Merlin wearing dresses is rather hilarious. 

“It’s never a good sign when the man you’re in bed with starts to laugh.” 

“On the contrary.” Merlin props his head on his arm. “I think it’s a very good sign.” 

“Well at least tell me what’s so funny.” 

“That dress, did you really pick it out for me at the fair?”

“Yes. And you could show a little gratitude.” 

Merlin’s giggles get louder, earning him a pillow to the head. “Was anyone else with you?”

“Percy. And Elyan.” 

From the rueful twist of Gwaine’s mouth, Merlin can tell he’s still embarrassed. “Bet they thought you were buying it for a wench.” 

“I was.” 

Merlin pokes Gwaine in the side, right at the base of his ribs where he’s most ticklish. “Ha. You didn’t really expect me to wear it, did you?” Something about Gwaine’s expression makes him pause. “You did. Oh my . . . you really like the idea, don’t you?” 

Gwaine remains silent. 

“You like the idea of me wearing silk? Firming up for you with nothing underneath?” He’d meant it as a joke, but for some reason saying the words makes Merlin’s exhausted prick twitch with renewed interest. The way Gwaine is looking at him sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. 

“Merlin, stop baiting me.” 

“I’m sorry, I promise I won’t bring it up again.” But already a plan is taking shape.

***

Something strange is afoot. Recently, Merlin has been a more attentive and helpful manservant than he’s been in all of his years at Camelot. He hasn’t complained when Arthur asks him to polish his armour, and he’s been positively gleeful about mucking out the stables. Breakfast has been piping hot each morning and rich in Arthur’s favourite foods. His clothes are always mended and freshly laundered. And on top of it all, Merlin seems—happy. He’s always smiling. Arthur suspects sorcery.

When he brings it up to Gwen over dinner, she laughs at him and pats his hand. “Arthur, I think the cause is a little more ordinary. A little more human, if you know what I mean.”

He honestly has no idea what she means, but her knowing smile isn’t helping. He scowls and tucks into his plate of stew. Merlin’s attitude had changed sometime after their failed trip to catch the bandits pilfering winter stores in one of the remoter villages. Those things couldn’t be connected, though; even if he is a generally awful servant, Merlin is nothing if not loyal. 

One afternoon after training, he notices Merlin and Gwaine sneaking away towards the stables, whispering together. Nothing odd about that, per se, except that when they notice Arthur staring, they separate, looking rather guilty.

Arthur can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. A horrible suspicion has begun to take root: what if Morgana has somehow enchanted Gwaine and Merlin and they are now working in concert for the overthrow of Camelot? 

Stranger things have happened, but without enough evidence, Arthur decides to keep an eye on them, just in case. He pledges constant vigilance.

***

Once a fortnight, the knights all go into town for a visit to the tavern and stay out until the wee morning hours. Merlin’s plan is simple. Gwaine will sneak away early under the pretence of bedding a tavern maid—a common enough occurrence which shouldn’t arouse suspicion. They’ll have the entire wing of the knight’s quarters to themselves and thus the privacy essential for an endeavour that would otherwise make Merlin the laughing stock of the entire kingdom.

When the day in question arrives, Merlin spends the afternoon in a state of distracted arousal, only half paying attention to Gaius and Arthur and generally tripping over his own feet. He’d tried the dress on the night before, surprised at how well it had fit, and even though he’d felt a bit silly clothed like a woman, the memory of Gwaine’s expression when he’d confessed his desire had roused him, making him tingle with eagerness. The dress was more like a slip than the frilly, ornate creations the ladies at the court favoured, and the material felt cool against his bare skin. He’d quickly disrobed before wrapping the garment in a sack and hiding it away. By then, his arousal had been so acute he couldn’t resist a quick wank before bed, imagining Gwaine’s hands lifting the dress to unveil his rigid cock. 

“Merlin, what on _earth_ are you doing?” Arthur’s loud voice cuts through Merlin’s reverie. 

“Erm, cleaning?” 

“You’re dripping dirty water all over the table. These are important papers!” The papers in question are hastily gathered, rolled up, and stowed safely away from harm.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Merlin wipes up the mess and drops the rag into the bucket he’d been using to wash the floor before he’d gotten distracted. His ears burn a little, as though his secret thoughts are plain for Arthur to see. “Anything else, sire?” 

Arthur cocks his head and crosses his arms—a look he gets when he’s trying to work out something and also intimidate the person in his sights. It’s quite an effective combination. “You’re acting quite peculiarly. Is there anything you want to tell me?” 

“Nope. Not at all.” Merlin’s sure his cheeks are as red as late summer apples.

“Merlin, the _water_.” 

Merlin rights the bucket that his jutting hip had begun to tip. 

Arthur glares at him. “Just. Get out.”

***

Watching Merlin go—and trip over boots he’d left in the middle of the room—Arthur reconsiders his faith in Merlin as a good servant. Clearly he’d been suffering from some sort of delusion. But if Merlin is ensorcelled, perhaps his distraction is a sign that Morgana’s plans are moving ahead. Or it could all be a ruse to throw him off the scent. Perhaps they know he suspects Merlin and Gwaine plan to usurp his kingdom.

The two of them did seem rather chummy this afternoon. Arthur doesn’t like it at all. He sets the maps and treaty aside and sinks down onto his bed, lost in thought.

***

Though Gwaine usually enjoys trips to the tavern with the knights, tonight he can’t escape fast enough. The promising look Merlin had given him that afternoon when they’d made plans for the evening has made him restless all day.

“Another mead, mate?” Percival asks with a slap on the shoulder. The strength behind the gesture announces that his good friend is one cup away from pissed. The rest of the knights and the King are just as drunk, loud and boisterous, calling for another round. 

Gwaine nods at one of the house girls—a buxom redhead he’s had a few times—and smiles. She beams back, a gap-toothed grin that might have peaked his interest in bygone days but now fails to move him. “Maybe later. If I see you later.” He makes a big show of getting up and excusing himself, wondering if he’s overdoing it, but no one seems to notice. Satisfied, he goes out of the main tavern room with the girl, who immediately drapes her arms around his neck and simpers up at him. 

“I’ve missed you, sir knight,” she says. “Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts lately.” 

He smiles and gently disentangles himself. “Here,” he says, fishing several gold coins out of his pocket. It’s far more than she would have earned on a regular night, and her eyes widen. “I’m going to need you to go to your room and stay there. Don’t go back to the tavern until morning, and if anyone asks, we’ve been together the whole time.” 

“But—”

“I’d consider it a personal favour.” He cuts off her protest with a kiss on the cheek. She blushes.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.” 

It’s already getting late; no more time to waste. “Thanks love,” he says, and skirts past the stairs towards the back hall.

***

Arthur may be not very sober, but he’s not stupid. And as he pisses into the bushes, such a relief after that last round of dice, he knows he’s not hallucinating Gwaine leaving the tavern and heading towards the road that leads from the lower town to the castle. Which means he didn’t bed that girl, which means he’s lying—and also sneaking. And these things make Arthur worry. They annoy him, too, because obviously something strange is going on, and he’s determined once and for all to find out what. He’s not the King for nothing.

***

Merlin gets antsy. He’s been alone in the knight’s wing for about an hour with no sign of Gwaine and is beginning to think his plan is utter folly. What if Gwaine hadn’t been able to escape after all, or worse still, had gotten drunk and forgotten? He rubs his sweaty palms against the dress that clings to his hips and pulls the bedclothes up higher, self-conscious in spite of being alone.

Finally, however, the door cracks open, and a familiar figure enters, visible in the low candlelight that illumines Gwaine’s small room. 

“Merlin?” 

“I’m over here,” he replies, a little shaky with nerves. 

Gwaine saunters towards the bed, already divesting himself of his scabbard and pulling at the ties of his breeches. “I tried to get here sooner. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

“Not too long, but I was starting to worry you couldn’t get away.” 

“It isn’t difficult to fool that lot when they’re at the dice table.” Gwaine chuckles. He’s hard, cock swaying as he closes the rest of the distance. “What are you hiding for?” He gives the blanket a tug and Merlin’s face heats. “Are you so embarrassed? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Merlin.” 

“Yeah. Erm. It’s just . . .” Another firm yank unveils him completely.

***

Gwaine can’t believe his eyes: Merlin is wearing the dress. The blue material clings to his figure in all the right places. The firm outline of his cock is clearly visible, just as Gwaine had imagined it, only better, being real. Arousal hits him with full force, startling in its intensity. His legs nearly buckle.

“Gods, what are you wearing?” He doesn’t know how the question leaves his mouth, since it’s answer is so very obvious. Merlin makes a sound of protest and tries to draw up the bedclothes again. 

“Don’t.” Gwaine sinks down onto the bed. “You wore this for me?” Only then does he allow a hand to drift across the flat plane of Merlin’s belly and rumple the material of the dress. It’s soft under his hands, heated from Merlin’s skin like a warm secret. Gwaine has never been a jealous or controlling lover, but the fact that Merlin would do this for him, make himself vulnerable in this way, touches him deeply and awakens an unfamiliar, possessive impulse. 

“You’d better like it. And remember it, because this is never happening again.” 

“I do. I will. You look beautiful—” Merlin glares. “Gorgeous.” The glare turns into more of a frown. “Handsome?”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” Merlin says and drags Gwaine’s head down. 

After the long day of anticipation Gwaine’s entire body flames as he stretches out naked atop Merlin, their hard pricks sliding together through the soft material. _Mine_ , he thinks, beginning a slow rut, bunching up the dress to grasp Merlin’s bare sides. 

“You have no idea how perfect you are.” 

“I am, rather, aren’t I?” Merlin grins up at him, pushing up at Gwaine’s downward thrust to indicate he’s not inclined to be passive. The movement makes Gwaine’s toes curl, and he realises he has to slow down lest he spend too quickly. With one last kiss, he pulls back and moves down Merlin’s body to where his cock strains against the silk, the tip leaking wetness into the fabric. He groans and presses his mouth against it. Instantly Merlin’s hands are in his hair, encouraging. Gwaine opens his lips and teases the length with his tongue, making the entire shaft wet and warm as Merlin squirms underneath him. His own arousal twitches against his thigh until it’s too much—he needs to be inside, united. Feeling like a child eagerly unwrapping a gift, he pulls the dress up to expose Merlin and slips a finger between his arse cheeks. Perhaps later there will be time to go slow. Gwaine wastes no time retrieving the oil from under the bed and preparing his cock while Merlin strokes himself, the dress gathered obscenely around his hips. 

“You know you’re mine?” Gwaine asks, unable to resist the urge. 

Merlin grins. “I’d better be, after all this.” 

Gwaine doesn’t know what possesses him, but he no longer feels in control of his own actions; he flips Merlin over and quickly guides his cock into the hot clench of his body. They fuck urgently, the silence of the castle punctuated only with heavy breathing and Merlin’s broken sobs of pleasure as Gwaine spears into him. The candles near the bed flicker, and all is shadow where they are joined. Gwaine’s pelvis smacks against Merlin’s rump as his hands rove up his delicately knotted spine, just visible through the silk. What only feels like seconds later, his climax rises and sends him sprawling onto Merlin’s back as he releases his seed deep inside.

***

By the time Arthur follows Gwaine to the knight’s wing of the castle, he’s beginning to feel a little foolish—and a lot more sober. There’s nothing odd about a man coming home from an evening of drink and falling into bed early. When Gwaine disappears into his bedchamber, Arthur is just about to turn on his heel and forget about the entire incident when he hears something that makes him freeze.

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice.

The door is still cracked open, and against his better judgement, Arthur tiptoes closer.

His mouth drops open. Merlin is in Gwaine’s bed wearing what can only be described as . . . a dress. _I knew it! I knew he wore dresses!_ half of him thinks victoriously, while the other half stares in horrified fascination as the two men he’s come to consider his best friends in the world start doing things that would make a Northman blush. He should leave. He shouldn’t be watching this. But yet he can’t quite bring his feet to move, mesmerised by the way their bodies unite in shadow on the wall, the flickering candles making everything surreal as a dream. Sounds begin to emerge into the corridor, and in spite of himself Arthur can’t deny his own acute arousal as Gwaine takes Merlin roughly from behind. It should be unnatural but isn’t. He should want to mock Merlin but can’t. After knocking his head against the wall to clear it, Arthur finally regains his wits and retreats to his chambers to relieve his agonised, cumbersome erection.

***

Merlin loses track of how many times he comes, just that he can barely manage a trickle of weak seed as he shudders once again. He aches everywhere. The dress is used, filthy with their mingled semen and sweat, and the entire room stinks of sex. He can barely keep his eyes open as he sinks into Gwaine’s arms, but he knows he shouldn’t rest for long. Soon the knights will come staggering back and Gaius will wake. Merlin will have to wash quickly and return to his own bed if they’re to remain undiscovered.

Gwaine has fallen asleep, sprawled on his bed and snoring softly. Merlin presses a kiss to his temple and slips away.

***

There are certain sights that, once witnessed, can never be forgotten. The next morning Merlin enters his chambers looking exhausted and happy, if a bit bow-legged. Arthur has barely slept at all himself. Despite his guilt, something else niggles in the back of his mind, something that makes him uncomfortable and itchy and unable to meet Merlin’s eyes. He isn’t jealous, he finally decides, because he had not envied either of them. He’d envied both of them. _Bollocks_.

He tries to forget the way Merlin had looked in blue silk—not foolish at all, nor womanly either. Gwaine had been all domination and power, the force of their coupling like nothing Arthur had ever seen. _How must that feel?_ he wonders, then rolls his eyes at himself. From the sounds Merlin was making, obviously good. 

“Everything all right, sire?” Merlin asks.

Arthur’s jaw tenses. “Yes.”

“If you say so, King Grumpy.” 

“Do shut up, Merlin.” 

He chews his breakfast mournfully and ignores how Merlin appears to have some difficulty bending over. What an idiot he’d been to suspect sorcery when the truth is so obvious now. 

At least he can take comfort in the fact that he’d been right about the dress all along.


End file.
